


The second bite

by nightbloomingcereus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens), Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbloomingcereus/pseuds/nightbloomingcereus
Summary: Aziraphale doesn't need to eat the apple.  Neither of them do.  They are by definition agents of Good and Evil, and knowledge of such is a prerequisite for the job after all.  On the other hand, nothing will happen to him if he eats it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 95





	The second bite

Aziraphale doesn't need to eat the apple. Neither of them do. They are by definition agents of Good and Evil, and knowledge of such is a prerequisite for the job after all. On the other hand, nothing will happen to him if he eats it. It's only supposed to be forbidden, only supposed to be a temptation, to mortals. And, anyway, come dawn, everyone, angel, demon, and human alike, will be banished from this Garden, whether or not they have tasted of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. 

Other things are more ineffable, of course.

Aziraphale remembers watching Eve eat an apple just like this one, just yesterday. The way light had bloomed in her eyes: love and desire, conscience and cruelty. The curiosity had already been there. God had made the humans in Her image, they said in heaven, perfect and complete and wanting for nothing. And yet it had seemed to Aziraphale that, when Eve ate that apple, when she handed it to Adam ( _here, you must try this, love)_ , it was as if a missing piece had fallen into place. Or perhaps, more accurately and more damning, an extra one that had never belonged had been taken away. 

He hadn't tried to stop her. He wasn't supposed to interfere, after all, even though he couldn't help himself from doing so merely an hour later as they'd fled from the Garden. They'd thanked him, truly grateful, when he'd handed them the flaming sword, but they hadn't been sorrowful or apologetic or even very frightened. Why would you stay in a walled garden, Eve had said to him instead, when there was a whole unexplored world out there, more dangerous and more beautiful than you could imagine? 

You can't know good without also knowing evil; virtue is nothing without sin. A flaming sword given away. Golden eyes opened wide, a head turned in surprise. Crawly asking, "Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing, and you did the bad one." A wing lifted over a demon's head to protect him from rain that was little more than an annoyance to beings such as themselves. His duty is to guard against evil, his calling is to protect from harm. He is beginning to realize that the two may not always be the same thing. He thinks maybe the apple might provide some clarity. What it says on the tin. Knowledge of Good and Evil. 

He picks the fruit himself, so as not to give the demon, who has quietly followed him into the center of the garden without asking where they are going or why, a chance to tempt him. It takes a little bit of deliberate force to get it to come off the tree with a bouncy snap of the stem and a rustling of leaves; it's not an overly-ripe fruit that will fall into one's hand by accident. It is heavy and sun-warmed in his hand, the glossy red skin still sprinkled with a bit of rain from the storm that has just passed. It smells sweet and pleasant and fresh, like the Garden distilled into a single sphere that fits in the palm of his hand. He bites into it, feels his teeth sink through the red skin, the white flesh, hears the crunch, feels it echo across the inside of his eardrum, tastes the juice, sweet and sour and bright, on his lips.

He offers the apple, shining red, a white half-moon bite taken out of it, to the demon beside him. He's not sure why he does it. Why offer this particular apple, this bitten fruit, when there are branches and branches full of untouched, unmarked ones right above them? Something about temptation, perhaps: if he was trying to _tempt_ Crawly, he'd offer him the perfect, pristine specimen. There is a moment, as long as three beats of a heart neither of them needs, in which Crawly stares at him with an echo of the same wide-eyed shock he'd shown upon finding out about Aziraphale's sword, and then he takes the offered fruit and puts his mouth where Aziraphale's had been just before. His tongue is forked at the very end and Aziraphale sees it flick out in a flash of glossy red for a moment before he bites down. His teeth are white and a little too sharp and pointed, the snap as they break the skin a little too loud. Aziraphale is mesmerized by the sight of the lump of apple moving down Crawly's throat, the thin skin there pale against the red of his hair and the black of his robes, as he swallows, like a snake, without chewing. His eyes are closed, so Aziraphale cannot see the gold of them, but everything else about him is limned in gold from the sun, which hangs low in the western sky. The fact that he finds the demon beautiful does not perturb Aziraphale; everything in this Garden is beautiful. But he can look away from everything else, from the humans and the animals and the plants and even the Tree of Knowledge, and he can't look away from Crawly.

He wonders what Crawly tastes. He wonders if that tongue is more serpentine or more human, whether an apple tastes the same to a snake or a human, a demon or an angel. It's not the first fruit he's eaten; the garden is full of fruit trees and berry brambles and grapevines and all of the fruits of the earth. It's not even the best; he thinks that he prefers the pear, with its fragrance and its juicy softness, the hint of stony grit at its core. He's never shared any of them with a demon though. 

They say the first bite of an apple is always the best, the one that's a revelation of sweet and sour, crisp skin and yielding flesh. That is not entirely true, not always, even though it was for Eve. It's the second bite, the one that Aziraphale watches Crawly take, that changes everything.

He thinks he realizes something, just for a moment, but it's gone before he can really understand. Crawly finishes swallowing, opens his eyes, and looks at Aziraphale. 

"Don't see what the big deal is," he says with a crooked smile, "Just an apple. Not like a flaming sword or anything."

Aziraphale looks away, chastened. He supposes Crawly is right: in the grand scheme of things, giving his sword to the humans is probably a far greater sin than taking a bite of an apple. 

The actual knowledge that the apple is supposed to impart is very specific. Good, evil; sin, virtue. Nothing they don't know already, or think they know, anyway.

It's only made things more muddled.

He's still an angel, and Crawly is still a demon. An apple will never change the truth of that. He's failed in his duty, and given away his sword to boot; Crawly has succeeded in his, a temptation finely accomplished. Tomorrow they will spread their wings and fly away over the wall, cloaked in light and cloaked in darkness, in different directions. There will be no coming back. They won't even be able to find the place. Tomorrow the Garden will be sealed off from all existence, locked away, more distant than the moon. It will be inaccessible, but not forbidden; there is no need to forbid a thing that cannot be. There are four beings in all the history of the world and heaven above and hell below who have tasted of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Two of them are mortal, and will die within a few decades, although not before living a life that is both hard and beautiful, free of the high walls of Paradise. 

And two of them are standing together, shoulder to shoulder, the demon looking at the angel with a curious light in his golden eyes, and the angel looking at the ground, under a tree in a garden. Shortly, they will have to venture out into the world, which is more beautiful and more dangerous than either of them could ever imagine. Everything in the Garden is beautiful, but everything in the Garden is unchanging. Some of the things in the Garden have always been too beautiful and too dangerous to remain within. 

You can't take back the first bite, or the second. 

The seeds are bitter, but the fruit is sweet. 


End file.
